


Ricochet

by twyly56



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Wade Wilson, Bea & Arthur (Deadpool), Carnival, College Student Peter Parker, Confused Peter Parker, Cotton Candy (Food), Flexibility, Flirty Wade Wilson, Insecure Wade Wilson, Katana, Masks, Meeting Again, Mercenary Wade Wilson, Misunderstandings, New York City, Peter Parker Likes Wade Wilson, Peter Parker and Wade Wilson First Meet, Photographer Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Wade Wilson, Shy Peter Parker, Special Forces Operative Wade Wilson, Sweet Wade Wilson, Taxis, Teen Peter Parker, Wade Wilson Likes Peter Parker, eventual identity reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: Peter meets a Special Forces Operative, Wade Wilson. He only meets him a few times, but he leaves quite an impression. Then, Peter comes by a masked mercenary with the same voice.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter sprinted down the alleyway, his childhood bully hot on his heels. He hated feeling as helpless as he did when Flash was beating on him, but he couldn't do anything about it. If he used his powers out of his suit, everyone would know who Spiderman really was. And a part of nerdy, little Peter Parker's life was being beat up by Flash at least once a week. Thankfully, he healed fast. 

He became cornered by a dumpster which he could have easily jumped over, but appearances must be kept. His heart pounded loud in his ribcage. Flash's fist collided with his face with a crack. Peter's head snapped to the side, smacking into the brick wall, and a groan escaped his split lips. His head rang from the impact. Flash punched him in the stomach next, again and again. Peter curled in on himself against the wall, keeping his arms over his head to avoid further damage to it. 

Flash's blows stopped all of a sudden, and he heard a high pitched shriek of fear. Peter cautiously lowered his arms to see a man, dressed in a black sleeveless combat suit with a pair of katanas strapped to his back, holding Flash by the back of his neck and pressing him back first into the wall a few feet away from him. There was a four inch knife pressed to his bully's throat. Peter's eyes widened. 

"I have some soft spots, and you just managed to hit one," the man singsonged. 

"Wait, man. You don't have to do this!" Flash said. "I'm-" 

"A bully. Yeah. Threats hurt, kid, but not nearly as badly as serrated steel. So keep away from this little guy. Cool?" the man asked. 

"Yes. Yes, sir!" Flash hurriedly replied. 

A smile spread over the man's face, and he lowered the knife, stepping away from Flash. 

"Great. Then we're done here," he said. 

"Wait, we are?" Flash asked. 

"No, totally done," the man said. He glanced at Peter. "You alright, kid?" 

"Y-yeah," Peter murmured from his huddled position by the dumpster. He tasted copper on his tongue. 

"Good. Yeah. Soft spot, remember?" the man said, sliding his knife away into a thigh sheath. He abruptly lunged forward and knocked Flash back against the wall, fingers wrapped around his throat. Flash clawed weakly at his hand. The man's voice came out low and stern. "If you so much as look in his general direction again, and I will show you in the worst of ways that I have some hard spots, too." He frowned and paused. "That came out wrong." His gaze hardened again. "Get it?" 

"Yes," Flash croaked out. 

"Good," the man said. He patted Flash's cheek with his free hand and released him. 

Flash stumbled for a moment before he ran off down the alley. The man shook his head in his direction and walked over to Peter. The teen looked up at him, eyes wide, when he offered his gloved hand to him. Peter tentatively grabbed his hand, and he let himself be tugged to his feet. He got a better look at the man's face. Peter was dismayed to find that he was _very_ hot. 

"Now what's a nice place like you doing in boy like this?" the man asked. 

Peter felt his ears flush, and he blinked in confusion at his odd wording. 

"What?" he said. 

"Never mind. Are you really okay, kid?" the man asked him. 

"Yeah. I think so," Peter replied. 

"Well, you kinda look like shit, tbh," the man said. "Let's get you patched up." He smiled, this one softer and more genuine. "Wade Wilson." 

"I'm Peter," Peter told him. 

"That's a cool name. My friend's bar is pretty close by. Mind if we stop there and get a couple band-aids, Peter?" Wade asked. 

Gosh, this was gonna probably be a stupid decision. 

"That sounds fine," Peter said. 

"Great! Come along then, my little buddy." 

Wade began to lead the way, Peter trailing behind him, hiding a faint blush. 


	2. Chapter 2

Loose gravel crunched under the boy superhero's sneakers. They had walked a few blocks before Peter found the courage to speak up again. 

"Thank you again for what you did," Peter started. 

"I gave him the beating, not that he deserved, but the one he needed," Wade replied in a sagely tone. 

"Did you just quote Pete Holmes' Batman?" Peter asked. 

" _Swear to me!_ " Wade growled in a deep voice. 

A giggle escaped Peter's mouth, and he blushed. Wade grinned at him. 

"Um, can I - can I ask what you do, exactly?" Peter asked. 

Wade looked back at him with a friendly smile on his handsome face. 

"Yup! That is a-okay with me." He cleared his throat before continuing. "I work for this government type thing. Black Ops and what have you. Very classified stuff, Peter. If I told ya, I'd have to kill you," Wade joked. "No, but seriously. I can't actually talk about it with civvies." He paused and tapped his chin as if he was thinking. "I think they'd discharge me. Meh." He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to Peter. "What about you? You in high school?" 

"I'm actually graduating at the end of this year," Peter admitted. 

"No way! That's great, man. How about a crisp high five?" Wade said. 

He raised his hand, and Peter high fived him after an awkward moment of silence. Wade seemed to take it in stride, grinning warmly. 

"Oh, cool. We're just about there," he said. 

The neighborhood around the bar looked really shady, though, all things considered, that wasn't very surprising. There was a black plaque by a door, illuminated by a florescent light, that said 'Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls' in bold copper lettering. An arrow under the word 'Girls' said 'Deliveries' and pointed to the door. Wade pushed open the door and gave him a smile, gesturing for him to come in. Peter followed him through the door, stepping into the bar.

The room was almost empty except for a couple of biker looking guys in the corner by the pool table and a scruffy man with longish light brown hair and glasses behind the counter. Wade all but bounced over to the bartender. The other man eyed him for a moment before he looked at Peter with scrutinizing eyes. He finished wiping a glass and placed it on the counter. Peter saw a large chalkboard on the wall on the far side of the bar. A bunch of names, ages, and dollar amounts were written under 'Sister Margaret's Dead Pool'. 

What kind of place was this? 

Then, again, he was the one following around a guy with a pair of effing swords strapped to his back. 

Wade pulled out a chair for Peter to sit down in, and the teen gingerly did so. 

"Peter, meet Weasel. Weasel, my new buddy, Peter," he said, pointing between them in demonstration. 

"I don't serve minors," the man in glasses told him. "And if he's here for the Pool, he has to be at least eighteen to enter. I won't be held responsible for any kid deaths." 

"I know that, Weasel. Just give him a water or something. I need to borrow your first aid kit," Wade said. 

"What did you do? Stab yourself with Bea or Arthur?" Weasel asked dryly. 

Wade rolled his eyes. He made a jabbing motion on the counter with his finger. 

"Okay, so that was _one time._  Anyway, it's not even for me, you ass. It's for the kid," he responded. "A little prick was messing with him, so I scared him a bit. Peter here got the raw end of the deal, though, before I came along. Got to get him patched up." 

"Okay, okay. Let me get it for you then," Weasel said. He set his rag down and reached under the bar counter. He came up with a small plastic crate of first aid supplies. Weasel plonked it down on the counter, pushing it toward Wade. 

"Gracias," Wade said. He pulled out a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He unscrewed the cap and tilted the brown bottle to wet a couple cotton balls. Wade placed an index finger under his chin, pressing lightly. "Tilt your head for me, Petey boy." Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat and moved his head in the direction that the man indicated. "There ya go. Good job. Now this may sting a bit." 

Peter did his best to remain still as Wade gently cleaned up his cuts and dabbed peroxide on him. The usual sting that came with the peroxide was irritating, but he'd had worse. It was pleasantly distracting when Wade's leather gloved fingers ran across his lips as they cleaned the torn skin with a wet cotton ball. Wade's movements were precise and clinical, the tip of his pink tongue caught between his teeth, dark brown eyes focused on his task. 

"Does that dickwad bother you a lot?" Wade asked him. 

"Yeah," Peter answered quietly. "We never really got along." 

"Well, screw him! I think you must be a cool guy, Peter. He must just be jelly," Wade said. He grinned sharply, danger glinting in his eyes. "He shouldn't bother you now. He seems like the cowardly type. Besides, if he messes with you again, I can always give him a _visit._ " 

"Um, thanks, I guess," Peter replied. Even if Flash did try something, he probably wouldn't say anything. He might hate Flash, but he didn't exactly want him dead or whatever the heck Wade was planning to do to him. 

"No problemo, my new little buddy." He dabbed a bit of Neosporin gel on his split lip. "Aaaand, you're all done," Wade proclaimed, smoothing a Wolverine band-aid over his cut. "I would suggest some ice for those bruises when you get home, but other than that, you're all set, Petey." 

The clank of a glass on the counter caught Peter's attention, and he turned his head.  A tall glass of water was filled to the brim next to his elbow. 

"Here's your water, kid," Weasel said. 

"Thank you, uh, Weasel," Peter murmured. 

"You're welcome," Weasel said. He turned to Wade. "How _nice_ of you to bring such a _polite person_ this time, Wade." 

"That was also one time," Wade complained. 

"Three times, Wade," Weasel corrected. He held up his fingers. "Three." 

"Two," Wade said. "The other time you totally dug that chick." 

Weasel made a face and scowled at him. 

"It was definitely three, man," he said. 

Peter picked up his glass and began to drink the water as he watched them banter. 

"Okay, three, whatever," Wade relented. "You done there, Petey boy?" 

"Yes," Peter said, setting the empty glass down the counter. "Thank you." 

"Aw, it's nothing, my little buddy. Let's get you home, yeah?" Wade slung his arm around Peter's shoulder and gave him a quick sideways hug. "Where do you live anyway? Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx?" 

"Queens," Peter said. "I - I can get there by myself." 

"Hey now. It's alright, Petey. I'm not gonna follow you to your house. Scout's honor." Wade made the three finger sign.

"There's no way in hell you were a Scout," Weasel scoffed. "More like-" 

The other man quickly spoke over him before he could continue, cutting him off. 

"I'm just going to walk you to the right district is all. I don't want you getting lost on the way there. It's a dangerous world out there, kid," Wade told him. 

"I, uh, okay," Peter said. 

He was more than more qualified to walk home in the evening by himself, but he found himself not minding Wade's company. Wade clapped his hands together and bounced on his booted heels. 

"Let's get going then, Petey!" 

 

Aunt May had been worried by how long he had been gone, and he did feel really bad about that and the fact that he had to lie to her. She didn't know about the bullying or the superhero stuff at all, so he couldn't say what had happened. She would totally freak out. Especially if he let her know that he had spent the better part of an hour at a bar. Peter told her he was just held up with a project at school and that gym class had been particularly competitive today to explain his face. She did look skeptical, but she didn't press any further. 

He sat on his bed in his room and stared down at the little crumpled Sticky Note in his palm. There was a Sharpied message, complete with a goofy smiley face, tongue sticking out and all, underneath the words and phone number. 

' **If Blondie gives you any trouble, let me know.** ' 

Peter felt himself smile, and he put the Sticky Note inside the top drawer of his desk. 


End file.
